


You're Dexter Grif

by AMaroonKindOfOrange (XylB)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:46:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8070331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/AMaroonKindOfOrange
Summary: You're Dexter Grif and Basic is hell. (Snippets of stolen moments from Grif's life.)





	

You're Dexter Grif.

You're Dexter Grif and Basic is hell. You don't even want to be here – you were drafted a week ago and you still remember how tightly your sister hugged you before you left – but you're here and you're tired and it's hell.

One day you run into Richard Simmons. He goes by Simmons, but you tease him about Dick anyway. He's nice enough and clearly nervous – about what, you don't know, but he always seems scared – so you sit with him at dinner and you talk to him.

He's got a great smile and a captivating laugh and he's always trying to fold in on himself, make himself smaller.

Basic is a little less like hell with Simmons there.

\----

You're Dexter Grif and you get shipped off to Blood Gulch.

You don't see Simmons on the ship with you, but it's crowded with anxious soldiers waiting to get dropped off at their new bases – like a twisted sort of school bus, except they're not getting picked up again.

The ship stops at Sidewinder and five men get off. The next stop is yours, and when you land you're the only one at the door. The door opens and you step out into dry, dusty air. And you're alone.

But behind you there's a commotion and you turn and you see familiar maroon pushing its way through the crowd, littering muttered apologies among the way.

Simmons steps out next to you and the ship door clanks shut behind you and the ship leaves.

Simmons unholsters his rifle and looks around before finally landing on you.

“So, where do you think Red Base is?” He says. You shrug.

\----

You're Dexter Grif and you've just woken up from surgery.

The last thing you remember is wheels and metal and gunshots and pain, but you force yourself up and you force yourself to walk.

You pass a mirror on the way to your room to grab your armour and you have to do a double take. Half of your face isn't your own anymore and as you reach up to drag fingers over the pink scar, you realise you recognise that skin. You've even got one of his eyes.

But then you hear Sarge and you hurry to get to your room and get dressed.

\----

You find out Simmons is half-robot now, and you tease him about it mercilessly.

But he doesn't laugh back and he shrinks into himself even more and he stops smiling at your shitty jokes.

This isn't the way it's supposed to go, and you ease up on the cyborg wisecracks and the nerd comments, but Simmons is withdrawn and quiet and you don't like it one bit.

But you can't fix it so you don't.

\----

You're Dexter Grif and shit has gone sideways.

There's an AI jumping around and you're not really sure what's happening, but someone's a ghost and someone's shooting at them and Sarge is barking out ridiculous orders and you are so fucking confused it's not even funny.

\----

You're Dexter Grif.

Simmons has nightmares – about the Meta, about Wash, about goddamn everything under the sun – and you feel guilty.

He's tossing and turning and muttering and moaning and you don't even realised you've moved until you're standing over him, gently shaking his shoulders. You say his name and he doesn't respond, but you slap him – lightly – and he jolts awake, awash in cold sweat. There's fear in his human eye and worry drawn all over his face.

Then he recognises you and he scrambles to escape your grip, embarrassed, but you hold him fast and tell him to calm down. He doesn't, but he stills for a moment, and that's all you need before you're climbing into bed with him.

He protests and pushes, but you stay and eventually he gives up. You fling an arm over his chest and he doesn't shove it off.

You wake up curled around him in a manner that distinctly reminds you of when you would hold your sister during thunderstorms so she wouldn't be scared.

\----

You're Dexter Grif and you almost died today.

To be fair, you almost die every day, what with Sarge's shotgun always pointed at you, but this time it was different.

You pushed the Warthog and you slid on the the ice and then a hand wrapped around your ankle and you were down, hitting the ground hard enough to slam your teeth together and you heard Simmons call for you but then it was just falling and panic and air and snow and -

Somehow you managed to coordinate enough to stab the Meta's weapon into the ice, a terrifying crunch that saved your life.

Simmons pulled you to freedom and you almost hugged him right there and then.

\----

Coincidentally – or maybe not so coincidentally – the day you almost died is the day that you finally kiss Simmons.

The moment afterwards is quiet and delicate and oh so fragile, and you hold your breath because you're not sure how Simmons will take it, but you hear a shaky exhale and then he's pulling you towards him, closer than you've ever dared to be and you shift your head on the pillow, your nose bumping his.

You can't his face in the dark, but then his cyborg eye whirs on, dim green against the stark blackness.

You drape an arm over his waist and you close your eyes.

You always sleep in Simmons' bed these days – he doesn't have nightmares and he keeps his cyborg light on because you don't like the dark.

\----

You're Dexter Grif and fuck this bullshit.

Chorus is bullshit and the whole setup is bullshit and goddamn it you never though you'd miss Blood Gulch, but you almost do, here – miss the simplicity and the ease. You miss teasing Simmons and you miss his easy laugh.

Now everyone's tense and lonely and scared and you can feel it in the dark when Simmons shudders himself out of a nightmare. Simmons misses Sarge and you guess you do, too, down in the depths of your mind where you actually acknowledge that Sarge does, maybe, slightly, kind of care about you.

It's bullshit, such bullshit. Simmons isn't supposed to have nightmares when you're there, he's not supposed to be this quiet and downtrodden and you're not supposed to feel this shitty when you see the frown etching its way onto Simmons' forehead.

It's bullshit and you hate it.

\----

You're Dexter Grif and it turns out the mercenaries are bullshit, too!

So fuck that.

\----

You're Dexter Grif and Simmons loves you.

You're sure that's not how Simmons wanted to say it, but he did and now it's there and he can't take it back.

You were arguing and you were fighting and it was ugly – mean, nasty insults that dug at all the wrong parts, all the parts you never attacked before, and then you asked – you shouted – you asked why the fuck Simmons even cared anymore, they were all fucked anyway. And Simmons had shouted back that maybe it's because he loves you and maybe you shouldn't be so fucking flippant about your own goddamn life, Grif, we still have a chance – and then he'd stopped and he'd realised and you stared right back at him.

Apologies trip over his tongue and he's babbling and he's rambling and you don't know what to do – what to say.

He falls quiet and he leaves the room and you don't go after him.

\----

You think you love him, too.

\----

You get him in bed and you get him under you and between the kissing and the undressing you find out why he always hides, always folds into himself – why you've never even seen him shirtless – and it's because he hates himself, he hates the mesh of metal and human and he hates how twisted up and worthless he is and he hates himself so vehemently you wonder how you missed it before.

So you press him into the bed and you pin his hands to either side of his head and you growl at him to stay.

He hates himself but he trusts you enough to let you see him naked and you're not sure you're worthy of that trust but you refuse to fuck it up.

You trace down the scars and the scabs and your lips follow your hand all the way down his body.

You don't understand how Simmons could hate the man shuddering underneath you, sighing out your name and looking so fucking beautiful – you don't understand how he could hate something you love so much and you try your hardest to show him.

You never say 'I love you' but he knows.

\----

You're Dexter Grif.

You're Dexter Grif and you're a little closer to heaven now.

You're Dexter Grif and you survived and you're here and pressed up against your side is the man you'd die for.

You're Dexter Grif and you're happy.

 


End file.
